


Parting Ways

by savage_starlight



Series: Origins [3]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst out the wazoo, Blood, Brotherly Love, Gen, These two need a damn hug, Violence, coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savage_starlight/pseuds/savage_starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sneaking into the pirate exhibit goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Ways

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching someone play Uncharted 4, and since he kept dying, I kept hearing Sam react to Nate dying.  That mixed with me wondering how Nate wound up solo in Cartagena to meet Sully.  This is the result.  Enjoy!

 

The first shot the guards fire is a warning, and it buries into the roof tiles just in front of Sam’s feet.

“ _Shit!”_ he yells as the shrapnel startles him off his rhythm, leaves him to scramble violently and almost fall before catching his balance and resuming his run across the museum roof.   _Dammit, I knew I should have checked for silent alarms!_ “Nathan, you still with me?”

From behind him, Nathan’s voice is loud but terrified.  “Yeah,” he yells, “just keep moving!”

“Yeah, you got it – this way, Nathan!”  Sam sees his opportunity and jumps at it, literally, sweaty palms clasping around the decorative flag pole which currently flies no flag at all, swinging off of it and slamming into the ground. 

The impact is jarring, but he rolls into the momentum and keeps running, eyes desperately picking out the escape routes in the shadows.  They settle quickly on a stone wall at the edge of the property, one with plenty of grips that he and Nathan can scale in eight seconds flat and escape over, and relief floods into his veins only to be replaced by the cold reality of the knowledge that they’re still not out of this yet.

“That wall over there,” he yells, “we can climb it! Come on!”

“Got it!” Nathan calls back, and Sam wants to check behind him and see how he’s holding up, but that’s a luxury neither of them can afford right now.   _Almost there,_ he tells himself.   _We’ll get over that wall and run like hell, and when we’re in some back alley three miles off we’ll laugh and pretend this never happened._

Another gunshot cracks from behind him, splitting the night apart, then another, and he swears violently as he increases his speed, throwing himself at the stone wall as he reaches it and starts to climb.

Then there is another shot, and Nathan screams.

Sam almost twists his ankle spinning around as he simultaneously falls from the wall.   _“Nathan!”_ he roars, his brother’s name tearing from somewhere in his lungs before he even thinks about it, and he watches Nathan’s hands fly to his side as he crumples and falls to the ground, illuminated by the distant glow of police flashlights.  The thought that he’s been shot doesn’t even have time to register.  Sam’s already running.

He reaches Nathan’s side in moments and skids to a halt, all but falling beside him.  “Nathan,” he yells, “oh shit, _Nathan.”_ Already his shirt is stained dark red across the stomach, and something twists inside Sam’s chest.  

“No, Nathan,” he whispers, shaking his head as he moves his brother’s hands aside to replace them with his own, “no, goddammit, _no._ ”  Nathan’s curled up around himself, and Sam can see him holding his jaw clenched tight against the pain but tears are still tracking down his face.  When Sam presses harder, Nathan lets out a pained yelp that hits him like a slap to the face, but he doesn’t stop, can’t stop.  A thousand thoughts flash through his head, thoughts about how dangerous bullet wounds in the stomach can be, about how they’re new here and don’t have any contacts, much less contacts with enough medical knowledge to fix this, about how the guards are getting closer and Nathan can’t walk and he can’t run with both of them together, and every thought ties together into a single road and a single logical conclusion at the end of it.

The guards run toward the both of them at full tilt, their guns still up and their flashlights still in their hands, beams dancing on the museum lawn.  Sam doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate, just throws himself to his feet with his hands in the air as the guards approach.  “I’m not armed,” he says, “I’m not armed, I swear to God- You gotta help my brother, please, he’s just a kid and he’s been hit-“

One of the guards heads straight for Sam, shoves him roughly to the ground, and he lets himself fall.  He pats him down for contraband and slaps handcuffs on his wrists, but he isn’t paying attention, doesn’t notice because he’s too focused on the other guards, the ones hovering around Nathan with fear in their voices as they bark into their walkie-talkies into a line he can only assume is 911.

The guard who put the cuffs on Sam snaps his fingers to get his attention, says something he can’t make out, even though the guard’s right in front of him, even though he’s yelling.  The world is blurring around the edges and he can’t look at Nathan, and Sam thinks he’s being read his Miranda rights but he’s not sure and he doesn’t care, because inside his head, everything is slowing down and fading out into white noise.

Sirens start to scream in the distance.  On the ground, an officer begins CPR.

* * *

The room where they’re holding him is sterile white and cold as hell, and he wouldn’t give one singular fuck if it was bright yellow instead.  Sam’s hands are shaking even with how hard he has them clasped together, the knuckles white and straining against the skin.  He wants to pace, to scream, to break something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he bows his head and gives another silent prayer to any God that might be listening, desperately hoping that even if all merciful deities abandoned the both of them a long time ago, they’ll be willing to listen just this once and bring Nathan back.

The sound of the door opening makes him flinch, and his head shoots up as an officer enters the room.  The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks. “How’s Nathan?”

The officer looks at him with some expression that’s either pissed off or pitying, her eyebrows furrowed as a frown carves down her face.  “Your brother is in surgery in the Intensive Care Unit,” she says plainly.  “He has been for an hour.”

The blood drains from Sam’s face and the knot inside his chest tangles up even more.  “Do they think he’s gonna be alright?”

Her face is stone.  “They’re not sure.”

The world is spinning again.  Sam’s shoulders slump as he rests his heads against his hands. The whispered prayer that hung on his lips has become a silent mantra of expletives, _shit shit shit_ over and over and over again.  Heat stings the back of his eyes and he clamps them shut because dammit, he’s not going to cry in front of this woman, he’s not going to cry for Nathan because he isn’t _dead_ and he’s not going to be any time soon, and because Sam can’t imagine trying to live in a world where his own damn stupidity got his little brother killed.

“Samuel,” the woman says, drawing him back to the present. Sam inhales another shuddering breath, the air rattling in his lungs.   _Focus,_ he tells himself, _get it together._  

He tenses his jaw and inhales again, looking up to meet her eyes.  He says nothing, _can_ say nothing, but he nods, and she accepts it as due response.

“You understand that you were caught illegally on private property after-hours, don’t you?” she says, and Sam swallows hard, looking at the wall because he doesn’t want to look at her face as he gives a short nod.  

“You know what that means?”  Another nod.  

The officer sighs.  Sam gets the brief sense that she’s exasperated, but he finds it very hard to care.  There’s a moment of silence before he manages to speak, and when he does, he still doesn’t look at her.  “I’ll tell you all about it,” he says, “but you gotta promise me one thing, alright?”

The officer gives him a look that says she’s far from amused by the fact that he’s trying to barter when he’s at a clear disadvantage.  “And that is?”

“You let me tell Nathan goodbye before I head off,” he says.

Her face is impassive, but Sam thinks he sees a flash of pity in her eyes for a moment.  “Your brother may not be awake for days-“

“I don’t care.”

“-and when he does wake up, we’ll have to question him,” she continues, giving him a pointed look.

Sam nods.  “I know.  But he’s not gonna say anything unless he’s talked to me first anyway, and he’s stubborn as hell when it comes to that.”  The expression on her face reminds him once again how much he hates talking to cops, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows it’s his fault they’re stuck like this anyway, and dealing with the condescension and judgments is the least he deserves at this point.  “Look,” he says instead, “I know you think we’re gonna try and plan some great escape or something, but we’re not.  You can monitor us if you want, I just- You gotta let me tell him goodbye.”

She frowns.  “Your brother lost a considerable amount of blood because of that bullet.  Chances that he’s going to-”

“He’ll be fine,” Sam says, cutting her off before she can do something terrible like putting _Nathan_ and _dead_ together in the same sentence.  

“And if he isn’t?  Samuel-“

“If he isn’t, then I won’t talk to him,” Sam spits out finally, because he’s tired of this conversation and this room and this woman, and he hates how his voice cracks at the thought but he can’t help the fact that the idea of Nathan being dead is the last thing he’s ever wanted to consider in a lifetime of unthinkable things.  

The officer leans back in her chair and fixes him with a long look.  Sam closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, exhales slowly as he opens his eyes again.  “Just…Just let me see him, alright?  Please.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, Sam is worried that she’ll just leave him here to think about his actions and his words some more, as if he hasn’t already thought about them more than enough.   _Please,_ he thinks again, though he’s not even sure who he’s pleading with at this point, _please, just let me see Nathan again._

Across the table, the woman lets out a soft sigh as she places her hands on the table.  Sam can’t read the expression on her face, and it doesn’t seem like it’s an expression he’d want to understand either.  “Damn kids,” she mutters softly under her breath, so low he can barely hear it, and she looks at Sam.  “I’ll see what I can do,” she agrees, her voice flat, “but it may not be much.”

Inhale, exhale.   _I’ll see what I can do._

It’s the best he can hope for.  It’s certainly better than what he deserves.

“Okay,” he says softly, and he tells her the truth.

* * *

It’s three days before Nathan finally wakes up, and five days before they let Sam into see him.  They take the cuffs off outside the door to Nathan’s room, but they keep a guard posted outside to receive Sam when he leaves.  He thinks, maybe a bit sardonically, that notoriety may not be all it’s cracked up to be after all, but the time to entertain that thought isn’t now, because now he’s stepping through the door into a room with pastel colouring and the clouds on the ceiling – _a children’s room,_ he thinks, because despite his maturity Nathan is still only fourteen, still just a child – and Nathan is sitting up with his face toward the window and Sam’s so damn relieved that he thinks he might just pass out.

Nathan looks towards the door as it opens, and his eyes widen when he sees who it is.  “Sam?” he says, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

Sam forces a smile onto his face through sheer strength of will, and he’s not sure that it quite reaches his eyes but damn, does he try.  “Hey there, little brother.  How you feeling?”

Nathan tries to straighten up instantly from his slouch, clearly agitated, and he ignores Sam’s question entirely, shaking his head.  “Sam, where is this?  Why are we here instead of-?“

“Hey, hey, easy there, Nathan.  You’ll tear your stitches.”  Sam crosses the room to stand directly by Nathan’s bedside, and he lays a hand on his shoulder, half for Nathan’s benefit and half for his own. It’s so much easier to believe that they’re both actually okay when he can feel Nathan’s presence tangibly, and it’s that very fact that makes him certain that the next year is going to be hard on the both of them.   _I fucked up,_ he thinks, not for the first time, and then he pushes the thought away.  

On the bed, Nathan’s settled down, and Sam smiles at him.  “Don’t worry about that stuff right now, alright?  You just worry about yourself.”  He lets go of Nathan, then reaches for the chair in the corner of the room, dragging it up beside his brother’s bedside.  “Now then, how you feeling?”

Nathan makes a face and looks away.  “Like I got shot,” he mutters, and Sam winces internally.

“Yeah, well,” he says, still forcing that same smile, “that’s because you did.” He studies Nathan’s face and feels his smile slipping away.  “You scared the shit out of me, Nathan,” he murmurs.

Nathan twitches uncomfortably, shrugging. “Sorry,” he says, following the words with an awkward silence like he’s not quite sure what to say next.

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches up almost instinctively as he nudges his brother’s shoulder.  “Nah,” he says, “don’t worry about it.  Just don’t make it a habit, huh?”

Nathan smiles a bit at that and nods, but the smile fades away far quicker than Sam wishes it would.  “Hey Sam,” he says, and Sam braces himself for the question that he knows is coming.  “How did we make it to a hospital?  You couldn’t have carried me…”

Sam looks away, feels his shoulders slump as he blows out a long breath.  So much for one last conversation.  “No,” he admits quietly.  “No, I couldn’t.”  

“Then how-?”

“I was arrested, Nathan,” Sam says, and he can taste the bitterness in his mouth even as he says it.  He doesn’t want to be giving this news, not ever and certainly not now, when they should be celebrating the fact that they’ve both lived to die another day.  “They caught up to us, and they arrested me and took you here.”

Nathan’s eyes widen with the realization.  “Oh, _shit,_ ” he says.  “Crap, Sam, now what?  What did you tell them?  What’s our story?”

“I told ‘em the truth, Nathan.”  Sam watches shock flash across Nathan’s face, but he doesn’t stop speaking.  “There wasn’t any way around it.  They saw us, they caught us.  Not even I can lie my way out of that one.”

Nathan shakes his head a little, still in shock as he exhales disbelievingly.  “So now what? When are we sneaking out?”

“We’re not.”

“Then what’s going to happen?” Nathan demands, the panic in his voice rising.  “What are we gonna do?”

Sam props his elbows on the bed, leans his face against his hands.  As much as he wants to put on a tough front right now, it’s too much effort and Nathan is going to see right through it anyway.  He wants to tell Nathan he has a plan, that he’s going to get them out of this, but he can’t because he doesn’t.  There is no great scheme he can think up now, only dealing with what they’ve been dealt.  “We’re just gonna have to go with it, Nathan,” he says softly, and he takes a deep breath before continuing with what he’s been able to piece together from talking to the officers.  “Right now, it’s looking like I’ll probably be put in jail for a while.  Six months, maybe a year.”  Another deep breath.  “As for you, they’re gonna put you back in the system, see if they can find you some better influences.”

Nathan’s eyes look like something inside him is breaking, and he shakes his head hard.  “No.  No, Sam, I don’t want to go back to that-”

“I’m sorry, Nathan, you have to-”

“I wanna stay with you!”

“You can’t, Nathan, I’m _sorry,_ ” Sam says for what feels like the millionth time, not that it’s changing anything or doing anyone a damn bit of good.

Nathan, for his part, looks like he’s given up. His shoulders slump and he doesn’t look at Sam, not that he can be blamed for that.  Sam doesn’t much like to look at himself some days either, certainly not on days like today.  

There’s a silence then, heavy and hanging in the air like thunderclouds.  Sam wants to break it, but there’s nothing to say, and Nathan looks like he probably wouldn’t notice either way at this rate.  Still, he has to try.

“Hey Nathan,” he says, and his brother twitches. “Why don’t you keep an ear out while you wait for any cool exhibits we can check out, huh?”  He nudges his brother.  “Then once I’m out, we’ll go track ‘em down, give ‘em a look, see what we can find out. How’s that sound?”  He smiles.  “Maybe here in a few years, we can actually track down that treasure.”

Nathan gives a small shrug, then nods.  Sam figures it’s the best he’s going to get, but he tries to be reassuring again anyway.  “It’s only a year, Nathan,” he says.  “A year, maybe a year and a half, and once I’m out, I’ll come find you again.”

Nathan locks eyes with him for nearly the first time since this whole conversation began.  “Promise?”

Sam smiles, just a bit.  “Yeah, course I do.”

There’s a knock, and the door to the room opens. It’s the officer, checking in on them. “Mr. Drake,” she says, “it’s time for us to leave.”

Sam nods, fights to keep the slump from his shoulders.  “Yeah, alright,” he says instead, “I’ll be right there.”  He turns to face Nathan again, searching for words to say, and he’s surprised when his brother all but launches himself at Sam’s arms before he can even think of anything.

“Hey, hey, Nathan, it’s okay,” he says, hugging him hard. “It’s gonna be fine.   _Sic parvis magna,_ remember?  We’re gonna get through this.”  He’s rambling before he can stop himself.  “Now you be good for the social workers, you hear?  Don’t be like me and run away all the time, they don’t like it.  I’m gonna find you once I’m out, I promise.”  Nathan nods into Sam’s shoulder, but says nothing.  “I’m gonna come back for you, Nathan.  I will.”

Another nod.  There’s several more silent seconds before Sam forces himself to let go, because someone has to and he knows Nathan won’t.  He looks at his brother, and there are tears in Nathan’s eyes.  Sam gives him another quick, playful nudge, smiling even though he knows it looks pained.  “Love you, little brother,” he says, and Nathan nods.

Sam stands.  There’s nothing left for him to say, nothing Nathan can say, and when the door closes behind him, creating yet another barrier between him and Nathan, it takes every ounce of logic and self-preservation he has to not open it back up, to not try to fight his way out of this hospital with his brother to keep them from getting split up again.

But it’s too late for running now.

The officer leads him away.


End file.
